


change it up

by wincestious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWPish, Top!Sam, bottom!Dean, its got a little bit of plot, or as close as i can manage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestious/pseuds/wincestious
Summary: It was always the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> aaaand i post my first wincest fic aha - floating somewhere in some random ass timeline bc as much as i love those drama filled seasons the first two were so nice and /happier/, so i toss it along those times

It was always the same.

He’d have him close, pressed too tight and too hot and their breaths shared and Dean would be so close, so soft beneath him and just  _ staring _ .  

Sam would be watching him, large hands clasped over Dean’s wrists and keeping them pinned to the wall, up and over Dean’s head so Dean couldn’t leave but Dean doesn’t leave, he never leaves, and Sam  _ wanted _ .  He wanted and Dean never said no and Sam never did anything more than this.

“What do you want from me?”  Dean said, soft and hoarse and Sam had to strain his ears to hear.  

What did he want?  His eyes strayed down, over the soft curve of too pink lips, hazel hues mesmerized by hint of tongue sliding over chapped hurts and he felt a warmth tighten in his gut.  Images flitted heart beat quick through his mind, of Dean pinned helpless, of those lips pressed tight together, desperate to hold back the sounds Sam needed to hear, of those damn  _ eyes _ glazed in pleasure; and Sam, he wanted.  He wanted -

He pulled away.

“Thought so.”  Dean would chuckle as Sam slid helplessly away, eyes averted to the ground as he released his brother’s wrists and they wouldn’t look at each other, or maybe it was just Sam who wouldn’t look at Dean.  

The burning of his back as he went to his bed, shame red hot in his chest, perhaps Dean watching him, contemplating what might have happened if Sam could have taken what he wanted instead of running like he had always done.

Instead of being the coward he truly was.

It was always the same.

-

“Up and at em’ Sammy-boy, new town new hunt.”  Dean said, far too cheerful for the morning after.

Sam woke with a start, groggy and eyes cracked red and gave Dean the proper greeting of a birdie as he pulled the covers tighter around himself.  Fuck hunting - he’s tired.  

But Dean being Dean simply gave a devious laugh as he yanked the covers from Sam, grunting in effort as Sam held fast and it ended with the both of them tangled in the duvet on the ground.  Dean grinning like an idiot and Sam not knowing whether he wanted to punch Dean or pull him close.

And Dean’s grin was infectious, almost had Sam grinning too, despite the taste of his morning breath and ache in his tired bones from the fall - but then he remembered the night previous and a cloud gloomed his thoughts.  

Dean noticed the subtle shifts in expression but didn’t say anything, instead thumbed towards the table and announced he had been oh-so-gracious enough to gather them shitty motel coffee and this was how Sam thanked him?

Sam threw a pillow at his head in retribution and Dean laughed it off.  Dean laughed everything off.  Sam wanted to laugh everything off too.

But Sam was too much himself all the time, unable to let go and find a happier persona - or perhaps a happier  _ him _ from some time or the other and couldn’t help but brood when anything went south.  

Dean noticed, like always, because Dean always noticed and knew everything about Sam and maybe that made Sam a bit uncomfortable in his own skin, having someone always aware of him, knowing him inside and out and all he wanted to do was return the favour but he  _ couldn't  _ because he’s a helpless coward.  

Sam shuffled his feet, cleared his throat and Dean rolled his eyes when Sam adamantly  _ did not _ take his hand when offered to help up.

“Whatever, Gigantor.  Just get in your suit and let’s get going.”  Dean said, sauntering over to the coffee and Sam frowned when his eyes followed Dean’s rump, grimacing further when his brother smirked over his shoulder.  He noticed.  Of course.

“Give me a minute.”  Sam said, simply to fill the thick air between them as he stood, scratching at his lower belly self consciously as he made his way to the bathroom.

He looked exhausted, more so than usual with heavy bags and sleep-mussed hair.  His eyes begged for sleep, a furrow on his brow he couldn’t wipe away and he sighed shakily.  They’ve been at this plato for some time, Dean waiting forever patient with a snarky grin and sultry tilt to his hips and Sam teetering on an edge of fear and doubt and  _ nonobadwrong _ .  Why did Dean have to make it look so easy?

Things were so much  _ easier _ to deal with before Dean found out those precious few weeks back and god when he did Sam was ready to pack up and leave - that’s it, Dean’s little brother was fucked up beyond repair time to ship him out - but instead of scorn jesus  _ fuck _ Dean just said so quietly - so softly - ‘you too?’ and Sam damn near had a heart attack.  

Sam’s pretty sure he passed out, or something along those lines because next thing he knew they were at this wall or he was because he was an idiot and Dean was perfection.

He splashed water on his face, eyes scrunched tight as the cool flush tingled his nerves to life, looking back up with gooseflesh bumps rising on his skin and he scratched at his right arm listlessly.  With how he felt and looked today - which was to say, quite shitty - Dean would do most of the talking and Sam would stand there and look either menacing or sympathetic, whatever the scene called for.

“C’mon princess, haven’t got all day!”  Dean said through the door, muffled from wood but crystal clear in Sam’s mind - Dean always a focus there.

Sam decided not to reply, simply grunting as he exited the bathroom.  Shirking into the black suit bought on false money he downed most of the now cold coffee, a frown finding its way to his face more so at the taste.

He avoided Dean’s appreciative gaze when he turned to face him, his brother’s look devoid of shame as he eyed him up and down and Sam swallowed the lump that seemed to take permanent residence in his throat.  Was Dean trying to kill him?

“Looking good there, Sammy.”  Dean said with a grin, and it was only a compliment but it felt too close and personal so Sam shrugged his shoulders and tried miserably for a smile.  It mostly worked, his cheeks stretching with an almost mechanical lilt and Dean quirked his head with an eyebrow raised - unimpressed, obviously 

Most everyone would be, perhaps, if they knew about his situation.

Sam chuckled - or tried to - it sounded more like a choked goose than anything joyous - as he followed Dean to the car.

-

“-and I just can’t believe that she’s  _ gone _ .”  Cried the short girl in front of them, dreadlocked hair tied back in a ponytail as she scrubbed at her cheeks, trying to holster the tears as they fell, unable to  _ not _ recall her dead lover.  Sam gave her an honest look of sympathy - he’s been there done that.  He know’s it’s kind of really fucking shitty.

Except he really wasn’t listening to whatever - Eliza?  Cheryl? - was saying, instead sitting with a half assed attentive face, occasionally murmuring his agreement and fiddling with his tie.  He felt uncomfortable, too tight in his own skin and couldn’t wait to get back home and out of this constricting suit. 

Maybe to hide himself away in the bathroom or go to the library for last minute research which he didn’t really need to do but he and Dean were sitting so close, the warmth of his brother’s thigh seeping through and it made Sam’s stomach tilt with unease.

“It’s okay, Beth, we’ll make sure this never happens again.”  Dean said with the tone that spoke odes of how he  _ meant _ what he said.  Despite all of Dean’s self doubts, his brother was a natural hero.  The fella everyone looked to when things went south.  Except Sam perhaps looked  _ too _ much to his brother, and just a little too south as well.

His eyes were lidded with exhaustion as he stared at the profile of Dean’s face, tracing the shape and curves that made Dean’s face  _ Dean’s  _ and ignoring the vicious tick of an urge to touch his hand to his brother’s soft hair.  Dean looked serious, the conversation at hand distant to Sam’s ears as he wondered why he was making everything so difficult for them.

“Isn’t that right, Agent Wilkerson?”

Sam turned pondered eyes to Dean’s, noting the change in his brother’s expression when he caught on to Sam’s staring.  His alias slowly crawled into his headspace and neurons going snail pace with his response as the two stared at each other for a few seconds, but Sam swore it was longer.

“Hm?  Oh yes, yes of course.”  Sam threw out, turning to look at - Beth, his mind supplied helpfully - and gave her a meaningful look.  Beth seemed almost unconvinced, her eyes switching between them confused before swallowing and looking to her lap.

“Tha-” she paused mid sentence, fiddling with her hands before looking at them both with desperate hopefulness.  “Thank you.  Just - just make sure no one else has to lose someone to this again.”

“Of course.”  They said in unison, standing to shake the tired girl’s hand before taking their leave.  

From what information they gathered it sounded like a simple Salt n’ Burn, something the both of them could get behind because it didn’t involve vampire bites or werewolf maulings or being thrown about like some teenagers hacky sack.

-

“Like what you see or something?”  Dean asked as Sam slid into the passenger's seat, the younger Winchester throwing him an incredulous look.

“What?”  Sam managed to sputter out, arms crossing after clicking his seat belt into place and the suit pulled tight at his shoulders.  Dean didn’t do anything to hide the lingering stare at the bulging of Sam’s arms, and Sam coughed into the awkwardness of the too-small space between them.  Or maybe the awkwardness was all him.

“Didn’t seem like you could look anywhere  _ but _ me, Sam.”  Dean said with shrugged shoulders, Sam turning to look out the window with burning shame.

“I wasn’t -  It was just - It was, you know, it just  _ was _ .”  Sam said, all chopped up and nervous and Dean leaned forward where he sat, trying to catch Sam’s eyes but Sam was determined to look the other way.  The blue sky was really pretty today, that’s all.

“It just was?”  Dean pressed.

“Nothing.”  Sam settled on, dark and quiet and unable to admit he spent most the interview picturing sweeping his hand through Dean’s gelled hair.

Dean snorted and turned back to the road, starting the Impala and swerving on out of the parking lot.  “Yeah right.”  His brother said, and Sam shirked his shoulders close.

-

They didn’t say much the rest of the day, Sam escaping to the library for blissful silence and researching all he could on the ghost who decided any young girl that was engaged and  _ happy _ certainly couldn’t keep topside.  Apparently Daddy Dearest had killed her for having a female lover and now all chicks digging chicks just  _ had _ to go.

He got back to Dean shortly thereafter discovering her grave location, and they decided they’d much rather deal with digging her out later tonight.  It would also be plain safer by then.

“Celebratory drinks?”  Dean called out from the washroom, exiting after the flush of the toilet resounded their room and Sam turned to look his way from the ratty table he sat at.

“Is that necessary?  The case is pretty simple.”  And then, after a brief thought, “We haven’t even finished it yet.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t go out and share a few drinks, brother.”  Dean said with a shrug, and he had a half point.  Still.

“You just want to score an easy lay seeing as we have a grand total of eight hours before midnight.”  Sam said, bitter and quick.

Dean huffed a laugh.  “Sammy, easy lays are for  _ after _ midnight, excuse you.  You don’t pick up women at four pm.”  

“You don’t go out drinking at four pm.”  Sam replied, just as fast as Dean had and his brother shrugged, sitting across from him on a squeaky chair and Sam avoided looking directly into Dean’s eyes.

“Fair enough, celebratory lunch then?”  Dean opted for instead, offering Sam a somewhat-truce.

The idea was tempting.

“You go on, I’m not feeling too hungry.”  Sam said, and he really wasn’t.  Figuring your way around shared incestuous feelings had a way of ruining one’s appetite.

Dean either didn’t hear the underlying desperation to just be left to rot or more reasonably, didn’t give jackshit.  Sam’s brother felt like some greasy burgers and like hell he was going to eat some alone.  Had enough of that when Sam was parading normalcy at college.

“Too bad, Samsquatch, we’re going for burgers and you’re going to shut up and be nice about it.”

Fair enough, Sam figured, as Dean dragged him out of the chair and into the sunny day of Buttfuck, Somewhere.

-

“These diners always make the best shakes.”  Dean said, unfairly plump lips wrapping around a classical red-n-white straw as he sipped casually at his strawberry milkshake.

The dessert looked nice enough, and Sam could assume he might even enjoy a few sips himself - except the sounds Dean was making to express the possible delightfulness of said shake, Sam rightfully felt, were over done and out of proportion.  His jeans were feeling a little too tight, no thanks to the downright lewd moan Dean let out as the strawberry cream melted on his tongue.

His older brother apparently forgot that, one - they were in a diner surrounded by lovely families, and that, two - that his straw was actually a  _ straw _ and not, indeed, a penis.  

Dean seemed to be well endowed in this false belief, and put on quite the show for Sam to cry about later because  _ shit _ doesn’t his brother just look fucking talented in this regard, and what a sight to behold as plenty put-upon parents left, eyeing Sam in particular and hey - he wasn’t the one treating his straw as his next conquest.  He’s just trying to enjoy his shitty diner salad and calm his totally-not-raging-hard-on, thank you very much.

“Dean, will you  _ quit it _ .”  Sam hissed out, leaning over the table and jostling the condiments with the force. 

Dean looked up curiously from his shake, quirking an eyebrow and did he  _ seriously _ have to swirl his tongue around the tip as he pulled off?  Were the last drops of whipped cream sitting at the end of his straw so important?  No.  So fuck Dean.  But  _ not _ fuck Dean -  _ do not go there _ , Sam chanted inwardly with grit teeth.

“Quit what?  Enjoying my shake that I paid for?”  Dean asked, innocuous.

“Quit treating it like its a fucking  _ dick _ ,” and that word he whispered conspiratorially as yet another family looked at him as if  _ Sam  _ was the perverse monster here, “There are people watching us, jerk.”

“Woah, hey now, I’m just drinking my shake here - which is delicious -, not my fault you guys are  _ sexualizing _ me.  What next, the way I ate my burger was too, how would you put it,  _ teasing _ ?”  Dean replied, haughty and grinning.

Sam thought back to when Dean was enjoying his greasy burger.  And yeah, when he recalled the finger licking and low groans of enjoyment - Sam’s going to have to agree with the teasing bit alright.

“ _ It was _ .”  Sam said back.

“What’s that princess?  Your undiscovered food kink is pushing it’s nasty lil head onto innocent ole’ me?”  Dean said, fanning his lashes and pressing a dramatic hand to his own chest.

Sam thunked his head against the booth, huffing out his annoyance and the chuckle Dean let out cued Sam in on Dean winning whatever little goal he set for himself.  Whatever that one may be, what, ticking Sam off?

“Looking a little warm there, Sammy-boy, jeans a bit tight?”  Dean asked with faux worry, noting the slight flush and near-imperceptible twitching of Sam attempting to subtly adjust himself.

“Fuck you.”  Sam replied.

“Maybe.”  Dean said with a carefree shrug, drinking his shake with more modesty and leaning against his seat casually.

Sam cracked an eye open to glare at him through bangs and was met with an easy smile from Dean.  

“Double fuck you.”  Said Sam.

“Getting ahead of ourselves, don’t you think?”

Sam didn’t bother replying.

-

“You know - no one would know.”  Dean said, out of the blue, staring at the TV of which Sam thought Dean was paying the utmost attention to.  It had explosions and what not, but upon closer inspection Sam realized Dean had been side eyeing him for a good hour now.

“What?”  Sam asked, despite knowing full well what Dean meant.

“I mean,” Dean began, turning to roll onto his stomach and propping his head up with his hands, now staring quite determinedly at Sam.  Sam quite determinedly did not stare back.

“No one would  _ know _ .”  Dean finished with, and Sam typed away at his laptop with harsher clicks then his keyboard deserved.

“Repeating your sentence won’t make me understand it better, Dean.”  Sam said, tone carefully even.

“You know what I mean, Sam.”  Dean said in turn, low and hurt and Sam chanced a glance his way, because he wasn’t used to Dean sounding anything other than painfully sarcastic or dick cheerful.

“Dean…”  Sam started, closing his laptop and moving to sit on the edge of his bed, elbows to knees and he looked to his socked feet, eyes hidden under his bangs.  “It’s just -”

“Just  _ what _ ?”  Dean snapped, using his hands to heft him to Sam’s eye level, despite Sam glaring burning holes into the ground.

“I don’t -  _ I don’t know! _ ”  Sam hissed out, one hand curled tight into his hair and he  _ didn’t,  _ he had no fucking clue why it's just  _ just _ , or why he was being such an ass about this whole thing.

“Well, why don’t you know?”  Dean demanded, and sudden as anything Sam was shoved down on the bed, Dean sprawled across his lap too hot and too  _ there _ .  “What’s even to fucking know?”  Dean said, sounding far off and distant through the blood rushing fire hot past Sam’s ears and down south where it shouldn’t be going at all.

“Dean, you - you  _ know _ -”  Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“I don’t fucking know, Sam,” Dean near whispered, tone a soft, quiet thing, “When have I had any damn clue of what goes on in that stupid gigantor head of yours?”

“Dean, I…”  Sam said, but he hadn’t a clue where he would go with it.  

Dean looked up from where he hung his head, the switcharound of whose eyes were hiding from whose dizzying to Sam, but painfully unimportant when compared to the weight of Dean on his lap.

“Do you want me?”  Dean asked, left field and blindsiding Sam.

Sam stared up at Dean, wide eyed and mouth dry, and his mind ran miles.  He did -  _ fuck _ , he really did.  But wanting it didn’t change the fact it wasn’t right, didn’t make what they wanted from one another not wrong.  Here, however, with Dean so warm and needing in his lap - Sam couldn’t resist.  How could he?

“Yes.”  Came his quiet admission, his voice a soft, hoarse thing - as if it was ripped straight out of him.

“Then why don’t you kiss me already?”  Dean asked in turn, his own tone just as gentle.

“I don’t know.”  Sam admitted, again, and just when Sam let his hands fall from mid air to shyly curl around the warm shape of Dean’s thighs, Dean slid from his lap and to his rightful spot on his own bed, leaving Sam bereft.

“Then figure it the fuck out, Sam, I’m tired of waiting.”  Dean said, and those were the last words said that night.

-

The brother’s readied the car in silence, packing all their supplies and driving to the grave sight with the air crackling a painful tension around them.  Sam could hear himself swallow, and that was just about as uncomfortable as the sudden visceral need to pull Dean in close and kiss him. 

Not that it wasn’t always there, that particular need, it was just a tad bit - and by tad bit a shit ton - stronger than it used to be, and he tapped his fingers on his thighs nervously.  Because despite the need churning hard in his gut, he still didn’t know if he  _ could _ .  And knowing Dean was waiting for him - and getting tired of it too - made him all the more uncomfortable with his inability to just get with the program.

He’d occasionally open his mouth to say something, but that would be dashed by a harsh turn of the car or shift of Dean’s tense shoulders, and before Sam knew it they arrived at the graveyard.

Gathering their tools, they made quick work of finding the proper tombstone and dug her out with trained efficiency.

“Hello, Miss Laura.”  Dean said, breaking the silence with his quiet comment when Sam’s shovel head thunked against moldy wood, solid and sturdy despite the years it's spent in the moist ground.  Sam did the heavy work of ripping off the casket's lid, staring impassive at the skeleton of Laura Davis.

Later, when the air was warm and orange with the flames light, Sam could only feel just a little guilty at giving two shits about putting the woman to rest.  Because in this too familiar lighting, he only saw Dean’s gentle beauty, somehow highlighted perfectly by a burning corpse - and wasn’t that just befitting for them.

Features soft, eyes lidded as he watched her skeleton burn up and he had the smallest smile - because he didn’t just save more girls from dying, he saved Laura from the monster she had become, finally gave the poor creature peace of mind and even with all the indecision and fear of what might happen - Sam couldn’t resist reaching a hand over.

He was tentative, and Dean turned curious eyes his way, green eyes orange in the flames.  Sam hesitated only a moment longer, careful, as if Dean was fire and Sam an unknowing moth drawn to the light.

At the tentative touch, Sam was sure he was going to burn up.  He felt like he was, shaking and hot,  _ too hot _ , and then his palms slid up Dean’s neck, cupping his face, directing his brother to look up at him.

“Sammy?”  Dean asked, soft, like so many other times Sam went to make a move and Dean was forced to stay still and wonder if maybe this time his younger brother wouldn’t be a fucking idiot and just kiss him already.

“Dean.”  Sam replied, mostly on autopilot, as he leaned in and he was inches from Dean’s lips when he was stopped ever so gently by Dean’s - shaking? - hands on his wrists.

“Are you - only if your sure, Sam, only if your sure.”  Dean said, and Sam heard the fine trembles in his voice, this time.

He then thought, briefly, back to these past few weeks where he’s drunkenly tossed Dean into this situation, this spot, and left him hanging.  He wanted to punch past him, because how could he have left Dean to swill in this  _ fearneedwant _ alone?

Hell, he wanted to punch the Sam from three hours ago, when Dean all but threw himself onto Sam’s lap, and Sam still did nothing but stutter and falter like the perfect fuck up he was.

“I’m sure.”  Sam said, and his voice only shook a little, hands trembling a finite tune when he leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s.

That first touch - it was - it was everything and nothing, it felt akin to being starved for air, as if he was underwater all his life and finally broke surface, lungs filling with scorching heat and he pressed harder against Dean’s soft lips.  Desperate for more of that heat, that heady flavour he felt he was fastly becoming addicted to.

His brother opened easy beneath him, gasping and Sam hungrily chased the sound, both hands cupping Dean's cheeks and directing the kiss to where Sam wanted it, his brother’s head maneuvered until their lips locked in perfect sync.  Dean tasted like home and apple pie, like cinnamon twisted into a heady undertone that made Sam’s head spin and he licked into every crevice he could, wrestling with Dean’s tongue and delighting in the shivers wracking his brother’s frame.

Dean moaned into the kiss, a soft small thing, and Sam felt a possessive heat flare up in his chest at the sound.  He pulled Dean closer to him, one hand threaded in Dean’s hair at the back of his head and holding him in place, the other wrapped around his brother’s waist.  Dean shivered beneath him, arms clenched tight around Sam’s neck, and Sam could feel the desperation and disbelief from Dean’s tight hold on him.

Sam pulled away only when his body felt appropriately emptied of oxygen, panting heavy for air and biting Dean’s lower lip as he pulled off.  He smirked at the strangled moan Dean let out, thumbs running reverent circles into Dean’s cheeks.

Dean swallowed, eyes unfocused and tongue gingerly running over the spot where Sam nipped, and Sam drank in the sight of Dean’s disheveled appearance with dark eyes.

“That’s - that’s pretty sure.”  Dean said, shuffling just that bare inch closer to Sam.

Sam just chuckled in response, turning away from the ethereal beauty that was Dean - because sometimes it was too much to take in - and chose to watch the skeleton crumble and crackle in the flames.  Which, right - not the best place for any of this right now.

An idea hit him, and he turned to Dean with apprehension, nerves stewing in his gut, “The impala?”  Sam said, offered, either or, and Dean looked to him with curious eyes.

“Deserted road - back seat?”  Dean followed up with, his tone careful and unsure, and Sam couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. 

“Yeah.”  Sam agreed, because that sounded like a pretty good fucking plan to him, and they stumbled to the car like giggling idiots, unable to keep their hands off each other for even an instant - Sam especially so, now that he finally got over whatever stick was shoved up his ass.

-

The car took entirely too long to get to, and Sam couldn’t recall for the life of him how they managed to get where they were now.  That being, on some deserted back road in some random who-could-give-a-shit-state, with Dean dragging him into the car’s back seats and somehow getting them both inside and the door shut  _ without _ too many roof to head incidents.

Sam took a moment to marvel, when Dean flopped onto his back and pulled Sam up and over him, staring up at him with impatience dipped in nervous arousal, and Sam was sure the sight alone was enough to get him going.  Which - frankly, it was, blood pooling warm in his gut when Dean spread his legs and hooked them over his hips, the sound of Dean’s knees hitting the roof of the car jarring yet distant to the blood rushing fast in Sam’s ears.

“You gonna kiss me, or just stare at me all day?”  Dean asked, and despite the annoyed tone, Sam heard the underlying fear that Sam was going to back out again, because Sam’s had him here a few times before - pinned under him, flushed and waiting for Sam to do something, but this is the first Sam’s done anything other than internally cry over his eternal manpain due to incestuous feelings.

Sam swallowed, hard, before finding the nerve to lean down and brush his nose against Dean’s.  “I’m working on it.  It’s just - I don’t know, look at where we are.  What we’re  _ doing _ .”  Sam said, awkward half shrug thanks to the space limitations and Dean chuckled breathlessly.

“Not doing much of anything right now, are we?”  Dean quipped.

Sam made a face that suggested he at least considered what Dean said, “Fair enough,” Sam conceded.  He then leaned down closer, until his nose was buried against the soft flesh of Dean’s neck and breathed deep, Dean’s scents filling him and he gave a low groan, one hand - the one not ensuring he doesn’t crush Dean into the leather seats - gliding down his brother’s flank and feeling the warm skin up.  He practically purred at the small jumps Dean’s body gave, particularly when he fitted his palm over the jut of Dean’s hipbone, his hand practically slotting into place, and he grabbed that spot just a little harder, dug his fingers in, and Dean  _ squeaked _ .

“Dude - did you just -?”  Sam started, but Dean batted at his head.

“ _ Shut up your hands are stupidly big _ .”  Dean hissed out, his face flushed red with embarrassment, and Sam almost choked on the possessive heat that smacked him at that.

Sam had to ask, “You think my hands are big?”

“Does that even count as a question?”  Dean said, squinting up at him.  “They’re almost as big as my  _ head _ for fucks sake.”  With this Dean waved his hands about, as if the flailing of them would help get his point across and Sam just smiled, a dark, predatory thing.

“Do you - do you have a thing for my hands?”  Sam asked, though he wasn’t really looking for an answer, because his mind was far too busy concocting many a fantasies involving Dean and his hands and then following up with the fact they don’t have to be just fantasies anymore - Dean was his now.

Dean opened his mouth, looking ready to say something, but Sam crashed against his lips with a hungry growl, effectively shutting him up as Sam tried his best to convey every dirty thoughts he’s had about Dean in the battle of their tongues, in every sharp bite to Dean’s unfairly plump lips.  Dean gave a strangled moan, fueling Sam’s hunger, and Sam let his hand wander down from Dean’s hip to palm the mound forming fast in his brother’s jeans.

Dean’s hips jerked up into the touch, Dean breaking from the kiss to pant ragged against Sam’s cheek and Sam licked his lips at the sight, tasting Dean and unable to hold back the groan that slipped out.  He wanted to ravage Dean, own him entirely, and he only fumbled twice getting Dean out of his jeans and shoving them down, forgotten around one of Dean’s ankles alongside the shorts.  Dean’s cock sprang into view, pretty and red and already leaking and Sam wasted no time in wrapping his hand around the length of it.

Dean let out a breathy moan, fingers digging into Sam’s shoulder and Sam wasn’t even doing anything fancy, just lazily sliding up and down his brother’s cock and Dean was already looking close.  “How’s my hand feel, Dean?”  Sam asked, eyes dark as they stared down into Dean’s lidded ones and Dean didn’t look nearly coherent enough to respond to it - still able to muster an irritated glance, however, and Sam gave cheeky, albeit filthy, grin in turn.

“Feels f-fucking -  _ ah _ \- good, you asshole.”  Dean said, tone a low rumble intertwined with the prettiest moans, and it was like nothing Sam’s ever heard Dean sound like before.  It only riled Sam further, and he squeezed along Dean’s length, thumbing around the slick head and drinking down the sounds it pulled from Dean.

“You’re so _ pretty _ like this, Dean, should see yourself.”  Sam muttered, biting at Dean’s ear and letting go of Dean’s cock only long enough to pull out his own, because Sam was only so much a saint, and despite how hot it was to play Dean’s body, his own dick was starting to become more than uncomfortable in his jeans.  Freed from the confines of denim, he lowered his hips until their cocks were messily aligned next to each other, and wrapped his large hand around them both, starting a sloppy rhythm.

The slick sounds of their cocks filled up the car, Dean jerking as best he could up into Sam’s hand and crying out, and Sam was right there alongside him, cock hungry and pulsing and his eyes zeroed in on where they were together.  It was mesmerizing, the slick slide of their cocks, and with a sudden innocent glance down further, he pulsed with an all new hunger.  Ignoring the strain in his thighs he lifted his arm from where it was cradled around Dean’s head, pushing two of his fingers against Dean’s mouth and fuck if the sight of Dean just  _ opening _ around Sam was anything other than insanely hot.

Sam’s eyes darkened as he watched and felt Dean’s tongue work his fingers, jealousy and hunger churning in his gut, “You’re good at this, aren’t you?”  Sam asked, breath a low rumble in his chest, and Dean just helplessly whimpered around the intrusions in his mouth.  Sam could only stand to watch Dean suck on his fingers a moment longer, before pulling them from his brother’s warm mouth. 

He eyed them, and deciding them sufficiently slick enough he dragged them down Dean’s shaking flank, careful to keep the two fingers that were wet up away from the trembling skin and shoving Dean’s legs further apart, spreading him wider and Dean just groaned with the stretch.  It was a little difficult at this angle, to keep jacking them both and fit his hand in the spread of Dean’s legs - get his fingers pressed against the tight, hot core of Dean, and Dean only moaned at the first press, eagerly pressing his hips back against the insistent press of Sam’s fingers.

“Jesus, you’re tight.”  Sam gasped out, the impossibly hot stretch of Dean opening around him hitting him low and hard and he curled around Dean, until his forehead was pressed against Dean’s cheek, and when did Dean turn to hide his face away in his shoulder?  He nipped Dean’s cheek, getting his brother front and center again and the expression on Dean’s face almost made Sam shoot then and there.

Glazed, lidded eyes, flushed cheeks which made the freckles Dean denied for some reason or the other pop out vibrantly, and plump, kiss swollen lips open in a permanent pant.  “Fuck,” Sam muttered, pressing a violent kiss on Dean’s red lips and Dean returned the hungry sentiment with abandon, arms wrapped like a vice around Sam’s neck, keeping him right there - as if Sam would even think of leaving with Dean under him like this.

The rhythm Sam barely managed to keep up on their cocks began to slip, and the fingers he had in Dean’s ass didn’t even have to move at this point - the mindless roll of his brother’s hip doing the work for them both and Sam groaned low at the pleasure firing through him.  He was close, and the chorus of Dean’s moans and helpless whimpers weren’t helping stave of his orgasm.  Sam pushed his head down, biting down on the vulnerable skin he found in the gentle curve of Dean’s neck and sucked hard at the spot, digging his teeth in and aiming to mark and Dean just pushed into it.

“Fuck, fuck - Sam,  _ Sammy _ , fuck -” was the litany spilling from Dean, and when Sam bit hard over the first mark Dean came with a shout, trembling and breaking and utterly  _ gorgeous _ beneath Sam.  With the fall of his brother, Sam pulled his hand free from the clenching draw of Dean’s ass, curling his arm around his brother’s head as he thrust without thought down onto Dean’s soft, what must be sensitive cock.

With one last thrust against the slick mess Dean made of them, Sam came with a muffled shout, biting into the same spot that was now red and swollen and certainly going to be one hell of a mark later.  Dean shook with him, one of his hands trembling as it stroked down Sam’s hair, soothing him through the come down and Sam curled close, panting heavy.  His conscious was drifting in and out, only aware of the pulsing, sated pleasure ringing throughout his whole body and Dean’s off tune, soft humming.

-

“That was…”  Sam started, later, when they managed to get somewhat comfortable in the mess of the back seats cramped space.  Sam was squashed against the seats walls, Dean’s back pressed tight against his chest and an old blanket Sam dug out from the trunk wrapped around the both of them.  Their knees creaked and they were both going to be sore in the morning, but Sam could give three shits when Dean was actually  _ cuddling _ with him.

“Fucking awesome?”  Dean ended, voice hoarse and Sam chuckled, pushing his face against the back of Dean’s neck.

“That works, yeah.”  Sam said, wrapping his arms tight around Dean’s middle and Dean hummed his agreement, hands coming to rest on Sam’s.  

Things were quiet again, and Sam was almost off when a thought nagged at the back of his mind, not allowing him to completely sleep until he spoke it.  “Dean,” he said, and Dean made a low noise of affirment, “Are you - I mean, I’m - sorry.”  He ended with, awkwardly, and Dean turned his head towards him.

“Hm-wha’?”  Dean murmured, voice rough with sleep and Sam shrugged.

“For taking so long.”  Sam said quietly, and Dean gave a tired scoff.

“Thas’ fine, you big idiot,” then, with an impressive display of shuffling, Dean managed to get his body face Sam’s.  Dean looked up into Sam’s hidden eyes, and with slow movements, brushed the hair out of his face so they could be eye to eye.

Sam wanted to hide them again, but the soft press of Dean's hand to his cheek held him still.

“You’re forgiven, other cliche bullshit, yadda yadda, sleep now?”  Dean mumbled out, before he gave Sam a small, chaste kiss.

“Are you sure-?”  Sam said, but Dean cut him off with another kiss

“Yes, and if you really want, we can talk more tomorrow  _ after _ we sleep.”  Said Dean, and this time his voice was firmer, lulling Sam to listen to him and Sam requised under the adorable mix of annoyed exhaustion on Dean’s face.

“Yeah, okay.”  Sam agreed, and Dean flashed him a tired, cheeky smile before cuddling his face against Sam’s chest, snuggling closer.

And when Sam was assured Dean was asleep, and when he was pretty sure any second he was going to pass out, he let slip a quiet admission.  “I, uh, I kinda love you.”  And with that, he pressed a gentle kiss to Dean’s forehead, and he only shocked a little when Dean hummed a small agreement.

“Not kinda,” Sam started, “Really.  I really love you.”  Sam said, affirming it because he had too before he slept and even though this time Dean didn’t reply, his brother fully asleep by now, it made Sam’s chest lighter, and he held Dean close with a small smile, passing out peacefully.

-


End file.
